Something about your Lips
by songtofly
Summary: Kiss (vb): Touch with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, reverence, or greeting. (Collection of different kisses Levi and Petra shared.)
1. French kiss

Petra loves watching him, trying to uncover secrets buried deep inside his shell; scars that do not show on his body and that she hasn't touched to brush the bitter memories away, and she thinks that's mostly what she does when they have a few moments for themselves.

She's on her stomach, arms crossed serving as a pillow for her head and she studies his face; every little curve, every little detail: his long black eyelashes, his straight and perfect nose, the line of his jaw, the veins in his thick neck, his collarbones…

When he's lying next to her like that, shirt on but buttons undone, hair messy and eyes closed–and with no crease linking his eyebrows–, mouth slightly open and breathing calm and steady, she can't help but think he looks so much better. Petra genuinely thinks he has nice features when he's not twisting them into a deep unshakable scowl, as if the act of breathing itself pisses him off beyond words.

"You're a pretty boy when you're not putting on that I-hate-all-of-you-shitstains mask, Levi," she tells him, hands wandering in his hair and she hears the pleased sound deep in his throat as she strokes his locks.

"Don't you _dare_ call me a pretty boy," he tries to sound threatening but his voice, heavy with sleep, makes him sound like a little boy expressing his indignation.

"Levi's a _very_ pretty boy," she purrs.

"I'm a man, and I'm not a pretty one," he opens one eye and gives her a cold look that suddenly disappears when she smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on his lips, his eye closing in anticipation. It's a gentle peck on the lips; something as innocent as the gentle caresses she gives his soft black hair.

He opens both of his eyes when he can't feel her mouth on his anymore, steely blue eyes staring deep into amber golden ones. There's a question, or maybe an invitation, even though he doesn't make an effort to prop himself up on his elbows to reach her face. She knows he wants to kiss her but she just won't just give in to him, so she eyes him back with a faint smile tugging at the corners of her pink plump lips.

"If you want them, come and get them, pretty boy," she says, rolling on her back with the intention of staring at the ceiling.

She doesn't get the occasion to do so, though, because the minute she falls on her back his body is on top of hers, strong arms and legs caging her in. She makes a low sound deep in her throat and reaches out to cup his face.

Their lips crash against each other and it is no longer gentle even though it isn't rough; it is demanding and sweet, tongues gliding against one another in a harmonious dance.

She thinks that maybe, just maybe, judging from the way he kisses her, the way he slips one of his hands under the back of her head to hold her, he doesn't mind being her pretty boy.


	2. Butterfly kiss

When he spots her, she's on her knees. His eyes land on the yellowish green stains on the back of her pants, just under the brown leather covering her waist, and he curses himself for staring a second longer than needed. He can't distinguish what it is that has her full attention—she doesn't seem like she senses his presence, after all—and the urge to call her suddenly dies when she tilts her head to the side, her hair smoothly following the motion and uncovering the skin of her nape. He walks to the side, steps slow, trying to catch a glimpse of her sideways.

He stops when he sees her right hand stretched, something in her palm, and it isn't before the creature moves its wings that he knows what kind of living being that is: a butterfly. Just as he realizes that, he wants to stride towards her and growl her name just to see her jump and search for words and excuses but a force stops him right there and he can only watch as she eyes the butterfly, wings batting in slow, elegant motions, showing off the colourful patterns it carries.

Levi wonders why she looks at it with something glowing and moving in her eyes, wonders why her lips are lightly parted in awe; that's just a goddamn insect and there are plenty of those here, that's surely not the first one she's ever seen.

It's the way her hair shines a different kind of golden shade that brings him out of his thoughts. The butterfly has left her palm and somehow it managed to shake her out of whatever state she was in a few seconds earlier, judging from the way she blinks at her hand. She eventually turns her head and she immediately stands up when she sees him although she tries to look away, as if she had dropped her excuse and is trying to find it again; but her poor excuse flew away.

He draws near her and he gets straight to the point, narrows his eyes before the words leave his mouth.

"Didn't I ask you to clean the garden?"

She looks up at him through her long eyelashes and bites her lower lip, corner slightly twitching and her answer—or lack of—takes him aback.

"Do you know something about butterflies?" he's at a loss for words but it doesn't show, his expression still as stoic as ever, "My father used to tell me that they kiss by batting their wings against each other."

He raises one eyebrow at her; butterflies don't think about kissing, do they?

"I know, right?" she might have interpreted his reaction the wrong way. He really didn't mean that he thinks it's impressive, he just thinks that it sounds dumb as fuck.

"Kind of like—" his lips part in anticipation when she lowers her voice and takes a step forward, hands reaching out to grasp the fabric of his shirt and a second later he can feel her cheek brush against his. His breath catches in his throat and he tenses when he feels her lashes fluttering against his, "—this."

He then feels her lips press against the side of his mouth, but when he opens his eyes she's no longer in front of him, giggles reaching his ears from around the corner.


	3. Single lip kiss

There are so many reasons this shouldn't be happening.

There are countless reasons her hands shouldn't be wandering, touching, caressing every inch of his body, and there are numerous reasons he shouldn't express his contentment by grabbing her hair, squeezing the flesh of her hips. There are numberless reasons that should stop him, make him open his eyes and push her away, send her back to her room and give her additional paperwork–which would be good for him because her reports are always clean, detailed and well written. She's good at what she does.

She's also so good at this it hurts, and it sends shivers down his spine, little shocks of pleasure tingling everywhere her lips leave a burning kiss. It makes his heart's thuds against his ribcage so loud that he can actually hear them, and his pointless endeavours to calm his hot, ragged breathing against her skin make him angry; what is he if he can't even control himself? What is he if he's supposed to lead her but can't take her wrists off of his body? What is he if he begs her to stay?

There are so many reasons his nails shouldn't dig into the lower part of her back, right next to her dimples and moan at the feeling of her arching against him as she takes his bottom lip between her pink ones to gently tug and lightly suck, a little sound of contentment forming in her throat and he can feel it, rather than hear it, on his lip.

There are so many reasons this shouldn't be happening.

The main reason being that she was violently smashed against a tree a while ago, blood on her face and eyes open as if she had been staring at death this whole time and felt it crawl under her skin and shatter her bones, as if she had felt her own blood leaving her, sucking life out of her, and his brain is still unable to digest the fact she is gone.

Forever.


	4. Spiderman kiss

_A/N: The last one was kinda sad, so here's fluff! Let's pretend Petra and Levi survive it all and finally go and see the ocean._

* * *

He feels her slender fingers gently brushing his black hair, peacefully going back and forth. Sometimes she puts her hand on his forehead before smoothing his locks back again so that his bangs no longer hide the creamy skin underneath, and pleasant tingles begin from his scalp and move down through his spine, making him part his lips and breathe in.

He can also feel her eyes on him, from time to time, even though his are closed. He feels her gaze because that may be the only moment when he feels good; when she looks at him with love, perhaps pride or admiration, maybe even something else but he doesn't bother analyzing it. She doesn't look at him all the time, he knows and he understands that the sight before them catches her attention more than his calm features do. She's still not used to it, yet.

Her other hand rests against his cheek, thumb stroking his skin with care. Levi has never felt any of the feelings blossoming inside of him before and he thinks this might be the first time he's ever felt peace, at ease enough that a noise nearby wouldn't make him jump or open his eyes. Petra's there, it's enough. Petra's there and she will never leave, it's enough.

"I think the sea's colour is just like your eyes'," she says, her tone a bit contemplative, "maybe your eyes are darker but if you swim deep enough that's just the same colour, right? We should swim."

He makes a noise in his throat. He's too calm and sleepy for deep shit like that, and if she's trying to be romantic then she should just shut up because the feeling of her skin against his scalp, forehead, cheek and beneath his neck and head with her thighs serving as–really comfortable—pillows is more than enough for him.

"It's beautiful, Levi. You should open your eyes and admire the view," she softly tells him as she looks down, waiting for a reaction.

He doesn't give her one. He won't.

"Levi," she whispers.

He grunts, playfully pinching her thigh as he grits his teeth and the sound of her laugh is so lovely that he loses the fight against the smile pulling the corners of his lips up.

"Can we just enjoy the damn silence for a minute? Yeah the ocean's nice and all but the sand is horrible and I'm still trying to get over it," he pauses, "Let's just listen to the sound of the waves. Yeah, let's just do—

He can't finish his sentence because her lips press against his, cutting his sentence off and his hand moves on its own accord to grab her hair, pulling her closer as strawberry-blonde locks tickle his collarbones and chest. He knows she's smiling against him but he moves his lips anyway in an attempt to taste it and happiness is all that's left on his flesh, on his tongue and it twists his insides but it's nothing like past fears.

She eventually breaks the kiss even though he still feels the strands of her hair tickling him, and she murmurs, "Be quiet, then," her breath hot against his moist lips.

He makes another sound in his throat in agreement.

Yes, she is definitely happiness.


End file.
